


Cultural Technology

by kkachibird



Category: NCT (Band)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-22 19:22:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19978276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkachibird/pseuds/kkachibird
Summary: When Mark turned 16, he found a piece of paper under his front door.





	Cultural Technology

When Mark turned 16, he found a piece of paper under his front door.

Mark lived in the plains, where there was nothing but old water wheels and cow pens and roofs patched many times over. It was bitter in the winter and sweltering in the summer. Mark knew how to start a fire, plow a field, and darn socks. He did not know how to read.

He took the paper and with his wide, lost eyes, he wandered the village. Mark knew he still looked small and boyish and often wasn’t taken very seriously by many of the men. If he showed them this paper, covered in neat, rigid black lines, they would probably throw it away.

He sang a little song to himself as he walked. It was one of the only other things he knew how to do well. Every week Mark and his family went to church and sang hymns, a small respite from the exertion of their work. In the rickety pews, he would imagine how the hymn could be changed, though he dare not do it during the church service. He thought of how a different tempo, added harmony or riffs might make a different song. Sometimes Mark sang these new hymns. Sometimes he even made up his own songs, like he was singing now. In his hymnal there were little pencil scratches: extra notes among the type that he’d plucked out on the church piano. Mark could read music.

Music was a way to imagine a different world, Mark believed, but in the village such a skill was a waste of time. Writing songs would not fill his family’s stomachs. Only through the toil of the fields and the sweat of labor could he help his loved ones. Mark wasn’t strong, he wasn’t fast, and he didn’t believe himself to be particularly smart, as he had never been to school; too busy in the fields with his father to ever even start a formal education. The one thing that Mark was, however, was diligent. No one had ever found him asleep in the barn, exhausted from the never-ending grind of the harvest and guilty and self-indulgent lying in a pile of cushioned hay. No, Mark always was were the work was. Up on the roof, Mark would crouch over and pant in the new cool spring air while the wheat swayed, nailing shingles over and over. Across the village as the end of autumn approached, Mark strained to walk and waddle with pails of water the size of tubs to break his little sister’s fever. And of course, when it was time of the harvest, Mark seemed to live and breathe the earth, the sky, the wheat. Him and his scythe were one, and Mark had the calloused, red, and sometimes even bloodied hands as evidence of that fact

Mark worked because there was no other life for him besides prayer and the love of his family, which was all one trinity interlaced in his existence. Besides the ephemeral nature of song, what more was there but this? His father, his mother, his brothers, his sisters, and the future family he imagined being much like his parents before him.

Last summer, when Mark was 15, he liked a girl named Jennie. He spent much time working up the courage to confess to her. Unfortunately, Jennie was three years older than Mark and the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. After Mark had stumbled and stammered through his feelings, Jennie simply smiled at him. She looked at him like a poor little stray animal and said “Mark Lee, you are a very brave boy, but I think you should go home now.” Jennie married next spring.

Jennie’s husband Kai was just as handsome as she was beautiful and smiled at Mark in much the same way when he found him waiting on their door step.  
“Hello.”

“I-uh. I-um need some help.” Mark stuttered.

“What is it?”

“I need to know what this says.” Mark awkwardly shoved the paper toward Kai.

“This is very fancy.” Kai straightened out the letter where Mark’s hands had gripped and slightly crumpled it. “This is probably some business for your parents or a neighbor.”

Kai led Mark into the home that he and Jennie shared, so much larger and grander than Mark’s own. Their home had artificial lights on the inside, the only place that Mark had ever seen them, softly buzzing and constantly glowing at a lamp on Kai’s desk and above their heads in a large glowing dome. Kai even had a copy of the newspaper sent once a week sitting on the end table. On the front Mark could see a black and white image of a beautiful woman smiling, wearing a bowed blouse and holding up a pristine white cup of coffee. Kai grabbed his glasses and sat down with the letter.

Kai was somewhat of a learned man, but for some reason when he began looking at the letter it almost seemed like he didn’t quite understand what it said. Mark watched his eyes dart back and forth over the text again and again, reading it over like there was something that must be missing. Eventually, Kai folded the paper hastily and said

“Mark, go home and gather your siblings while I speak to your parents. You may need to pack your belongings tonight.”

Mark never learned exactly what that paper said.

Once his family was gathered in his small home, everyone was so overwhelmed not even a fire was kindled in the room. Mark’s mother and father sat quietly while Kai and Jennie waited for Mark’s many brothers and sisters to quiet down.

“Your brother Mark is going away.” His mother said, seemingly weary and unsure of what to say.

Mark’s brothers piped up. Without Mark, who would tend to his younger siblings when they couldn’t? Who would lead them in church? Who would do the washing up? Tell stories and sing songs to them every night before bed? Listen to their worries and thoughts? They needed Mark at home.

“Mark is needed somewhere else,” Kai started. “He has a quality that the Ministry has discovered and must be examined and utilized.”

Mark felt frightened. What quality could he possibly have? He was just a poor and common boy with no special talent or personality. Mark considered himself a decent and good person, but not someone that was exceptional in any way. What if his “quality” was something bad? Something that needed to be removed from the community or experimented on?

“When will he come back?” Jennie asked, honestly curious.

“There is no way to know.” Kai responded.

-

The journey was very, very long. Mark slept fitfully through much of it, looking occasionally at his small collection of belongings and a copy of a prayer his mother had given him before he left; she believed that one day Mark would be able to read it, although he knew it by heart ever since he was a little boy. He had recited it a few times before but now, just thinking of it reminded him of her wet eyes and strained voice as she hugged him goodbye. His minder came to collect him soon after and never spoke a word. Mark did not want to leave. This was his very first time riding in a car and it made him feel funny and sick. As they drove further and further, the landscape even seemed to grow more dreary and lifeless just as Mark’s heart grew heavier and heavier. They finally began to reach a great city, all sharp geometric lines of buildings among the snow and fog,

Mark spent a few days in the city with his minder, waiting, for what or whom he didn’t know.

Everything here is gray, Mark thought. Every building he saw appeared to be made of concrete or metal or something else meant to stand tall and horrible like an ugly colossus. Everywhere he went was vast and cold, like each room and each building was made to have as much empty space as possible. It seemed like a city abandoned, yet there were people bundled up walking up and down the streets, and little stray dogs begging for food. It was always cold and dark. Even if he stood in front of the windows like a cat it was like there was never a ray of sunshine, for the light seemed to only cast lonely shadows on the hard floors. Everything looked the same. He felt he could walk from one end of the city to the next and find no discernable landmarks; each building simply rows of identical windows, ledges, tiles, railing, metal, metal, metal, and concrete. Mark closed his eyes and imagined the warmth of home. He hadn’t lived in a palace, but at least it was comfortable. At least it wasn’t lonely and Mark felt cared about and loved.

On the third day, his minder took him to a tall and intimidating building in the middle of the city. They climbed the stone stairs that zigzagged across it to the very top and Mark felt exhausted. Waiting for them inside was a large congregation of men and women around an enormous circle of a table, all dressed just as stiff and cold as the city itself, with every collar high and starched and pressed and every button and tie straightened.

“Mark Lee.” A man’s voice announced once Mark had been led like a criminal to the podium at the back of the room. Mark felt exposed and overwhelmed as dozens of pairs of eyes turned toward him. He tried not to look at his feet, as his father always told him that made him appear weak and without confidence, but the men and women staring at him weren’t exactly a good place to look either. Mark settled on the edge of the grand ceiling of the building, round and formidable and constant as the concrete floor they stood on.

No one in the room addressed Mark for a long time, seemingly sizing him up in silence, deciding some kind of verdict based simply on the boy in front of them.

“I will state the obvious,” the same man said carefully, “he wasn’t chosen for his beauty.”

Mark felt embarrassed at that, although he has never considered himself particularly handsome, neither had his appearance ever been criticized in such a way.

“His eyes have some character.” A thin, smart looking woman said. “I don’t think anything needs to be adjusted per say, but after a few months of assimilation I believe he should be perfectly fine. He has some development to do before we can really discern anything anyways. It doesn’t appear that his jaw or overall structure should be a problem at this point however”

“We have enough faces,” a more elderly man spoke up. “From what was presented from the hymnals I think he shows enough potential to be admitted. Our time is running out, and I’m tired of writing year plans that turn into five year plans. Let’s hear the boy’s voice, we don’t have any use for a mute do we?”

“Alright.” The first man answered. He appeared to be the leader; tall, middle aged, and handsome in a simple and balanced kind of way. “I think we should hear music now.” The man stood and approached Mark from the other side of the enormous room, and as he drew near Mark’s chest grew tighter and tighter with nerves.

“Son,” the man looked Mark in the eyes once he reached the podium, intense yet strangely kind “do you know any songs? Any that you can sing well enough for the men and women here today?”

“Y-Yes sir.” Mark felt like he wanted to die. He had never sang for anyone before. He had sang in church of course, but not by himself. He supposed he sang little songs to his younger brothers and sisters sometimes, but he didn’t think that counted. It wasn’t the same as having so many judging eyes of these important looking people on him at once.

“Can you think of one for us? It can be anything.” The tall man smiled, only for a small flash of a second and in a tiny little way, it did comfort Mark. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad place after all.

“I-um. I have a song I sing a lot. I-uh, I made it up though…” Mark said, and started chewing on his lip. Was that even a real song, he thought? Something I just made up?

“Okay,” The man sat down in an empty chair beside the podium. “whenever you’re ready.”

The room grew absolutely thick with silence as Mark tried to collect himself. The song wasn’t technically a hymn. It was the same as the prayer his mother had given him, and despite how hurt it made him feel to even be reminded of it, much less sing it, it was strangely the only thing that would come to his mind.

_That the day come_

_My dreams in drudgery_

_Bring worry to me_

_Stop their run, for the sun_

_Will come_

_Warm father rise up from the land_

_Wash me with the rays of light_

_Save me from myself tonight_

_Teach me love_

_Wrong and right_

Mark felt on the verge of tears by the time he finished the song, and it wasn’t very long. He hadn’t even been able to focus on anything as he sang, but now he saw the faces of each man and woman in the room and a small sense of pathos from many of them as they looked upon him.

“Well,” a different man spoke up, cutting through the deafening silence “He isn’t exactly here for this quality either, but even a deaf man could see something in that.”

Another chimed in, “His voice isn’t bad, just unremarkable. Pitch and intonation not great, but he obviously has a sense of it. From what was presented earlier it seems his experience is so limited that it’s no surprise his skills are at a similar place. He’s still young and it all can be developed.”

“I’m not sure.” A woman cut in “what sets him apart from the ones we’ve rejected? He has no extraordinary face, no extraordinary voice, and no extraordinary character that we’ve seen. Through development even an ordinary one could progress, but we’re not here to find ordinary or plain. He may have some rudimentary composing skill, but that’s not exactly a priority for us right now.”

A woman with a very soft voice spoke up and the room had to hush to hear her. “I think,” she started very slowly and carefully “there is something there.” The room listened to her in respect. “I can’t quite explain what it is, but I just feel something from his presence, even before hearing his voice. He has a quality that is meant to be watched. It’s obvious he isn’t the most confident or prideful, but I feel some… self respect- a self security or knowingness in him. You instantly feel his empathy, his honesty. I think he has the pinnacle quality, or at least it has a potential to emerge. We need extraordinary boys of course, but our end is to find ones that can be watched and revered. We need one who they’ll open their ears to, not just faces they can look upon and distractions they can chant with.

The room seemed to mutter and mostly agree with her statements, though Mark wasn’t exactly sure what some of them meant.

“Alright!” The tall leader interjected. “That’s enough to come to a vote if there are no more arguments pending.” He looked around the room to find no hands raised, no mouths open. “Cast ballots the typical way, speaker Way will count them and we’ll come to a consensus in about twenty minutes. Please use your intuition and don’t waste time creating a pros and cons list. We’re running behind as it is today.”

It didn’t take too long for most of the men and women to cast their ballots, which Mark assumed had to do with what would happen to him. If they all voted no would Mark be able to go home? Would he be sent to a labor camp? No ordinary citizens were supposed to see the inside of the Ministry like this, Mark knew. No one ever came back who had seen such a thing. What if Mark never came back? Twenty minutes seemed like an eternity.

The soft spoken woman from before suddenly stood and once again the room stopped in reverence for her. Speaker Way looked at the tally of ballots in her hands and announced,

“The ministry accepts Mark Lee as a candidate for the Cultural Technology selection. Trial will proceed for twelve months, after which another review will occur where the Ministry will observe progress and potential of the candidate. Any break of the candidate contract and requirements for continued candidacy will void any possibility of selection. Discontinued candidacy will result in expulsion from Ministry facility as well as relocation of individual in question.”

Speaker Way smiled, soft and fond, just like Jenny and Kai always did.

“Good luck, Mark Lee.”


End file.
